Obsessions
by emmyrad
Summary: One-shots, each one centering around a different ghost and their obsession. Chapter Two: Undergrowth.
1. Nocturne

Dreams.

They're the only tangible memory of my human life that I possess.

Well, that's not true. I remember the accident.

_The accident_— now I can reflect on it with such clarity. It was my fault, of course. Everything always was.

I was a mere twenty years old at that point, still very young, very naïve. I can recall my appearance at the time. I had jet-black hair that hung to my shoulders and dark, olive-green eyes. I wanted to be an actor— I had such big aspirations for my future, and an even bigger ego to match it.

How foolish I was.

I was with Cora when it happened. Oh, my beautiful Cora… I miss her dearly. I can still picture her gorgeous, long, golden-blonde hair and stunning green eyes. That day, though, she was wearing sunglasses, and her hair was pulled up into a ponytail.

She was driving us somewhere. I cannot for the death of me remember where we were going, but I do remember that blissful feeling— like we were invincible. Cora was singing along to the radio, and she'd just reached over to turn up the volume, her gaze leaving the road in front of her for just one moment…

That's when I saw it.

I'd glimpsed the truck early enough. If I'd said something, I'd have been saved. But no, in my shock, I choked on my words, my mouth moving but no sound coming out.

Finally, _finally_ Cora looked up, and what had been lyrics flowing from her mouth turned to a scream.

The truck was coming at us. It would have hit us dead on, had Cora not turned left.

But she wasn't fast enough. The truck hit the passenger side of the vehicle— where I was seated.

On impact, my world went dark.

That's when the dreams started. I was knocked into a coma— a deep, deep sleep.

In my sleep, I could still sometimes reach the real world. I could hear the doctor's speculations about my health, I could hear Cora's sobs, I could hear my mother trying to decide whether or not to "pull the plug."

But even though _that _was reality, it felt far less real than my dreams.

The dreams I had in that coma— they were the most vivid, the most beautiful things I'd ever witnessed in my short life. Each one of them was a work of art.

In one recurring dream, I was the most famous actor in Hollywood. My name would be known throughout the country; everybody wanted to be me. I had enough money to buy us— Cora and I— our own private island. We would spend our days on the beach of the isle, watching the waves roll into the shore and knowing that we could live this way for the rest of our lives.

In a different dream, Cora and I would travel the world together. We'd spend a week or two in Venice, take a private cruise around the Grecian Isles, and stay a month in Istanbul before traveling through Australia and Japan. Every minute of our grand vacation would be filled with breathtaking splendor and adventure.

My favorite dream was that of marrying Cora, of our family. We would have three sons: Christopher, Joseph, and Austin. Another child would be on the way, this one a girl to be named Laura Lynn.

I suppose somewhere in my mind, I knew that these were all dreams. But that part of my mind was distant and unreachable. Besides, why should I wake up? What was there outside my false reality?

Cora's tears, doctors coming in and out of my room, my mother wondering if there was a chance I would ever wake up…

My mother, my dear mother. She was so frightened, so timid. She would never have the strength to kill me, even though it was apparent there were slim chances that I would ever wake up.

So there I lay, dreaming.

_For twenty years._

Twenty years of drifting through my fantasies, my whimsies and wishes. Do you know what that's like? No, of course you don't. Nobody does, nobody ever will.

Outside was so… cold. So frightful, so lonely. As time passed, I came to fear the outside world, wanting only the dreams and delusions of the unnatural slumber of my coma.

I didn't want to ever wake up.

Cora was with me less and less; I believe she married some man and had kids. My mother came in regularly, until one day she… didn't.

Cora came in the next day, telling me that my mom had passed… they were dead, gone. In my sleep, I didn't really care. I only wanted her to leave, so I could return to my peaceful dreams.

"I… I'm so sorry," Cora said. "But… this is wrong. You've been sleeping twenty years. Your mother didn't have the nerve to do it, so I will."

The intensity in her voice drew me to listen.

"I'm… I'm having them take you off life support," Cora said, her voice ragged. "I think you'd agree with my decision, if you were awake. Besides, this way, you can be with your mother again. But… I'm so sorry this ever happened… so sorry…"

_I'm going to die_, I mused, the full gravity of the situation not quite hitting me.

And then it did.

_No! I don't want to die! I can't leave the joy, the peace of my dreams!_

_I just want to sleep… I don't want to die…_

For the first time in ten years, I tried to move, to wake up, to tell Cora not to kill me, just let me sleep…

Alas, I couldn't. I was going to die… that much was clear.

That night, they came in, and they turned off the machinery. My life as a human finally came to a close.

They robbed me of my dreams.

So it seems only suitable that now, as a ghost, I rob them of theirs.


	2. Undergrowth

Every garden needs a caretaker.

In my human life, I was that caretaker.

Now, of course, I am a far _superior_ being. But as a mortal, I was Garvin Gales, the cranky old ma n who tended to the flowers on the posh private isle off Italy's coast.

I was naïve as any flesh-walker when I was a young man. I married early, and my wife and I went through all of the pointless human mating rituals— we had a wedding, we honeymooned in Venice, and we bought our own home to "start a family."

This was before I realized my true calling, before I understood the position I needed to fill as the future father of the growth.

I took the job as caretaker a few months after my wedding. At the time it was meant to be a temporary employment, merely intended to keep the bills paid. But shortly after starting work, I realized how much the plants _needed _me.

The family who owned the isle was never there. If it weren't for me, all the greenery on that island would have died within weeks. I fed the little things, I helped them thrive. For once in my life, I felt important; I felt needed.

It was a tough commute to the island every morning— I had to take their boat out— so I found that I was more often than not staying overnight on the island.

The plants became my life. Every thought I had was of them, of their survival, of their success.

My wife, of course, abandoned me within the first year of our marriage since I was never around. I was sad, yes, as any weak mortal would be. Looking back on it now, however, I know that I made the correct choice. The plants were my children. That _woman _would never understand the complexities of the growth.

No longer attached to her, I was able to tend to my plants even better than before. The vigor that went into my work was no doubt unsurpassed by any other caretaker in Europe.

On several occasions, in those years after my marriage ended, I found myself wishing that I were a plant myself. Plants were simple. They were not weighed down by emotions like mortals were. This was humankind's weakness— emotion, _feelings_. An inexcusable flaw in the entire species.

Plants— they were dependable. If plants were tended to, given proper care, they would thrive. If not, they would die. It was so easy, such a consistent reality. There was no murder, no suicide, and very few illnesses to speak of. Plants were stronger, _better _than humans. Humans were the lesser species, and if they weren't so proud, maybe they would realize that.

I can't recall exactly how long I worked as the caretaker— perhaps about thirty years. By this point in time, I understood the superiority of plants. I understood how much more advanced than mortals they were. If only humans would realize this, too! But no— humans are, by nature, ignorant. All but me, of course— I was gifted my superior intellect by the growth. I understood where humankind stood in the universe's pecking order— below plants.

I've been rewarded for my loyalty to the growth, of course. Now, in my death, I am Undergrowth, father to all plants, caretaker to all the worlds' greenery! Yes, at one point, I was a mere human, but now I am _so much more_.

Now I have power. Power I didn't have as a mortal— a weak, foolish mortal.

I was about sixty when I died. It was the end of December— mere days after Christmas. Not that I cared. I no longer celebrated holidays like Christmas. They lost their appeal when you had nobody to celebrate with.

I'd spent the night on the island, of course. It was very early in the morning. I liked to awake at the break of dawn to care for the plants. It must have been about 5:30am when it happened.

I was going about my usual morning chores when the ground shook began to shake beneath me. My whole world throbbed with the energy of the quake. With a shout, I was thrown off of my feet, onto my side, all of my weight crashing onto my right arm, which immediately broke.

But I didn't have time to feel the pain— Italy was still shaking. I was thrown from side to side, my broken arm flailing around painfully as my body was tossed about.

Finally, it stopped.

Cautiously, I got to my feet, my knees shaking as I stood, cradling my aching arm.

I glanced around. The island had taken a bit of damage. Trees had fallen, and young saplings had been uprooted.

I glanced around once more, deeming that most of the damage was reparable. I sighed in relief. I would get my arm looked at later, yes, but for now, at least the plants were okay. Everything was fine now…

But then it wasn't fine. I happened to glance out at sea, and my eyes widened as I caught sight of the tidal wave.

It was approaching at a furious pace, growing exponentially as it soared towards me.

At its peak height, it was easily twelve meters tall. I gawked as my head craned up to see the wave that now cast a large shadow on the humble isle I cared for.

I screamed. The plants— the plants would drown!

"No!" I cried to the tsunami.

But the wave did not listen as it pounced on the island. The plants— they drowned.

I did, too, of course. I died. I was dead. I _am _dead.

But my death was a blessing. I've done more in my death than I ever could have in my life! I am the almighty Un dergrowth! My plants— I can protect them now! I am strong, powerful!

I am Undergrowth! The father of all greenery!

Someday, plants will rule.

Until then, I am their caretaker.


End file.
